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On a Girdle
That which her slender waist confined, Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done. It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer; My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move! A narrow compass! And yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair! Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round! --Edmund Waller